I’m not a hard man, but it’s the impotence that makes me purple with rage, the feeling that the school bully is running wild, the idea that Biff the bully can do whatever the fuck he likes without fear of retribution, that there is no happy ending, no more heroes left to step up to the plate.  

Marty McFly? Forget him, he’s snivelling in the corner with his testicles hitched to a field telephone while he helps the men in black with their enquiries.

Locked up with the rest of the good guys by the secret police and ICE agents, all emboldened by a new reality. They got the memo. And the message. Back to the future, where power and patronage are the new currency, yet the same old ideas. And as always, fear that greases these wheels of terror.

Donald J Trump is nothing but a street hoodlum and a bully in a posh suit; a street punk with a real Rolex and fancy Johnston & Murphy Oxfords.

Even worse, he is so vain and self-centred that he has fallen down his own rabbit hole and lost sight of reality. Even worse still, he has no idea that he has no idea. He is just an uncultured thug at the centre of his universe. One of his own making. So he knows he is powerful, and that is powerful. And dangerous. And he knows that too.

His idea of culture is gold-plated bath taps, while bad taste gold leaf dado rails hang his sycophantic art. Mad as a box of frogs. Shallow and bedazzled by bling. He knows no shame and is not ashamed of that. A magpie that knows what it wants and wants for nothing, well, nothing but a soul

In any sane, rational world, he would have been imprisoned for corruption and worse long ago, and now we would feel dirty for just saying his name. Mammon or madman? Perhaps both. But perhaps the only thing The Donald worships is the Donald. Even the truth bends to his will.

The shooting of Renee Nicole Good by an ICE agent in Minneapolis is another such example of the President of the United States of America playing Jedi mind tricks on the world.

Instead of Obi-Wan Kenobi saying, “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for”, we have the Mango Mussolini telling us that a cold-blooded murder was, in fact, a justified killing of a domestic terrorist.

I’m not the first to call bullshit on that; Minneapolis mayor Jacob Frey beat me to it. I fear we won’t be the last. However, far too many are either blind to that truth, for they have been mesmerised by the tunes of their cult leader. Or just don’t care. Boy, Trump is a cult (I may have spelt that incorrectly).

While his charms escape me, he maintains a hypnotic hold on his disciples. You may feel it’s inexplicable, as it’s inescapable. Yet he is a pied piper and a serpent charmer as evil as any creation by the Brothers Grimm. That’s grim. A snake oil salesman par excellence.

You could say his superpower is lying, but that is to underestimate the man and skill, for his true superpower is to turn a lie into a truth simply by saying so.

It astounds me that so many are simply too brainwashed or too stupid to call out that King Donald is naked and has no new clothes. You know the sort, the ones who get off on a little authority and the huge license to use it to inflict as much suffering as they can. All without consequence.

These lunatics have taken over the asylum, changed the locks, and are rewriting the deeds and ordering new toys. It is a billion-dollar paramilitary pantomime played out in our streets: no body cameras, no shoulder numbers, no accountability. Trump doesn’t just lie; he unleashes. He brings out the worst in us, summoning our inner demons, releasing long-repressed prejudices, racism, and hate to settle like flies on a turd.

All in the name of fighting a fantastical beast, they believe they have a dragon to slay, and The Donald has them convinced they are knights in shining armour. They are simply tilting at windmills. What they seek is a mythical creature, a unicorn, their far left is a far right construct. A quest for holy fail that drives the right’s narrative.

And then of course, the uniform. The first fetish of choice of all good psychopaths. What is it about ICE agents and uniforms? In the army, it was called Gucci kit: worn by the ones to avoid, all the gear and no idea. Now they are the ones calling the shots and shooting the innocent.

If MAMIL’s are middle-aged men in Lycra, then these are MAGA MAGMAs – Middle-Aged Guys with Military Accessories—Lycra for fascists. Every single ICE agent we see seems to be kitted out with enough gear to storm Bin Laden’s compound on his todd, well, in their wet dreams. Rather than check IDs at an Amazon warehouse.  

In reality, faced with a real enemy on the two-way range, they’d wet themselves. Yet they strut the suburban streets like so many extras in a Chuck Norris movie playing out their Rambo fantasies rather than show their true colours and sport body armour with a yellow stripe down the back.

In their heads, they are all Top Tier Delta Operators or Navy SEALs, but as we all know, they are Walts. They are just bully Biffs equipped with government-issued assault rifles and stun grenades. Cowards who wear masks to obscure their identity.

We can all see the parallels. You don’t need to wear a brown shirt to see a fascist. For history has an unpleasant way of repeating itself if bullies and psychopaths are allowed to hide behind a badge and a mask and get away with cold-blooded murder.